I always loved winter. When I was growing up, the town I was born was still a small place comparatively. It still had lots of open, marshy lands all around and lots of trees. I used to look forward to winter, because winter meant no more sweaty days, lot less mosquitos and best of all, school was about to be over. I used to dream about when I could be in my bed, under the quilt with a story book in my hand and mind lost somewhere dreaming about winter wonderland. Snow was of course a distant dream.
First time I saw snow up close was when I was attending college in the midwest. It was a clear morning in March, cool and crisp. Suddenly through the windows of our third floor classroom, I saw some fluffy white stuff floating by. Somebody shouted snow. We all rushed to the windows to see. Before long, the road below was covered by the white stuff and by day’s end there was around six inches of snow on the ground. I had seen some flurries during Christmas time in Atlanta but that was not snow. It did not stick to the ground. This was the real stuff. Oh, what joy! Nirvana! That night was bitingly cold, ice had formed on the road below our department building. Like many other novice students before me, I had the misfortune to slip on black ice that night and a lingering pain on my rear end for few days to remind me of my foolishness of stepping out without looking. My love for winter definitely was not hurt by the fall.
Winter, of course has it’s bad association. Nuclear winter, political winter and what not. For me winter is a season of rest and relaxation to be rejuvenated for the coming spring. If it is winter, spring is not far behind. There is always hope. With that hope in mind, starting word for my poem for week fifty of my fifty two weeks journey with the letter W is “Winter”. Two more weeks and my journey will be complete.